Made of Miracles
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Her world is crashing.:: Or in which Padma is made up of so many things.::Three-shot. Warning for eating disorders.
1. Chapter 1

_For the One Character Competition:_

 _A Three Shot with the following requirements:_

 _Made of Miracles_

 _You will write a story with an OC who plays an important role_

 _Your character has an eating disorder_

 _Optional:_

" _I've never been so disappointed in my life."_

 _Knitting_

 _Your character must be injured in some way_

Total word count: 1134

* * *

i.

It all starts during her seventh year at Hogwarts.

The world she's known is gone, and everything is falling apart. Once, the school had been her sanctuary. Now, it's little more than a prison.

Sleep goes first. Closing her eyes means letting the demons in, and she cannot handle another nightmare. Padma stays up at night instead, struggling to regain control of her thoughts, trying desperately to remember what peace feels like.

Her grades are next. She's always been so clever. Parvati is the brave one, but that's okay because Padma prefers knowledge to combat. But even that begins to slip away. _Acceptable_ isn't the best, but it's not nearly as bad as the _Dreadful_ marks that she's become more and more familiar with as the year drags on.

Her breaking point is when her friends begin to keep their distance. All of them are suffering at the Carrows' hands, but some are better at hiding the damage. Padma, for all her cleverness and wit, has never learned how to hide her emotions, how to craft a mask that's convincing enough to make others believe she's okay. No one wants to be the one who willingly stays with the weak, broken one. They're all fighting their battles, and there's no time to stop because war waits for no one.

She doesn't know how it begins, really. Had there been some conscious decision to stop eating? She isn't sure anymore; she only remembers the downward spiral, the pain, the tears, and that nagging voice in her head that screamed at her to find something in her life that she could control.

When the first hunger pang sets in, when she feels that tight ache in her stomach, she almost laughs in spite of her misery. The world has gone to hell, but everything is okay. She is invincible; she is made of more than flesh and bone. She is made of power.


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

It all changes during the battle.

Padma feels weak and unsteady. She has done well to hide the weight loss under her robes, but she cannot hide the dizziness that has set in. Each step feels like she's sprinting a mile, but she forces herself to carry on.

She's come too far to turn back now. This battle is different; it means the end, for better or worse. It offers her that glimmer of hope that she can get her life back.

"Padma, look out!" her sister calls.

But it's too late. Maybe, if she had been stronger, she could have responded in time. Instead, the spell catches her between the ribs, and she finds herself tumbling down the stairs. The last thing she remembers is her head cracking against the stone floor before darkness sets in.

…

"When were you going to tell me?"

Padma winces as she sits up in bed. Her head feels like it's on fire, and her twins' steely tone only seems to fan the flames. "You saw me hit my head," she mutters.

Her sister is blurry in her vision, but there's no mistaking the scowl that forms on her lips. "I carried you," she snaps. "I could feel your bones, Padma."

Padma opens her mouth but quickly closes it again. She's managed to find excuses to keep her disordered eating a secret. Even in close quarters in the Room of Requirement, she'd managed to avoid suspicion.

There's no avoiding it now that it's out in the open. No denial can explain how she's become so frail. "I've never been so disappointed in my whole life," she finally manages.

"Disappointed?"

Padma tries for a smile, but it feels fake. "In myself."

Parvati shakes her head. "It was a moment of weakness. You'll get better."

Padma almost laughs. She wishes it could be that easy. Madam Pomfrey may have a potion that heals the gash on her head. The bruises that marble her fragile frame will heal.

But there is no getting better. Not from this. Not really.

"You need to eat something before you take a potion for pain," her twin says gently, pushing a roll into Padma's shaking hands. "It'll mess your stomach up if you don't."

She doesn't bother to tell Parvati that her stomach is already messed up from months of cycling through starvation and purging. Her sister's eyes are so soft and full of worry. She cannot give her another burden to carry.

Hands still trembling, she breaks off a small piece of the bread. Though it is smaller than her pinky finger, it still looks too big, too intimidating.

When she forces the bread into her mouth, her stomach rebels. It twists itself into knots, and stomach acid threatens to snake its way up her throat.

The world has gotten better, but she is no longer made of power. She is made of mistakes and failure.


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

It all falls back into place a month after the war ends.

Her parents hadn't been happy when she'd told them the truth. It had taken her a full week to convince them that she's still their little girl, that she just needs help.

Her mother had suggested therapy, but she'd whispered the word as though it's the greatest shame the Patil family has ever known.

…

The knitting needles feel comfortable in her hands. It's a familiar, almost mechanical moment as she knits the yarn together.

"You're getting quite good at that," Ivy Doge, her therapist, praises.

"If I keep busy, the bad thoughts don't come as much," Padma says.

Ivy knows how it works, of course. She's the one to suggest that Padma find a hobby to keep her mind occupied. "And what sort of day is today?" the older woman prompts, tucking her silvery blonde hair behind her ears and studying the girl before her.

Padma hates the way Ivy looks at her. There's something about those forest green eyes that makes her feel like the woman can see into her soul. Still, maybe it's for the best. Her gaze is enough to keep Padma honest.

"It's a struggle," she answers at last, setting the needles and half-finished scarf aside. "I ate, and I know it's a good thing, but I felt like a failure. I felt like I was losing control again."

"You've spent so long equating starvation with control," Ivy says gently, "that it's hard to pull yourself out of that mindset. It will be a slow process, but you will make it. You've made so much progress already."

A small smile plays at her lips. Only a month ago, the thought of recovery seemed like a joke, like some unattainable impossibility. Now, she feels a flutter of hope tickle her insides.

She is getting stronger, and she is beginning to believe. She is made of hope and miracles.


End file.
